


Orlesian Fancies (Discontinued)

by dkthunderIV



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempted assassination, Eventual Relationships, Multi, Non-Binary Inquisitor, Orlesian Ball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkthunderIV/pseuds/dkthunderIV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Orlesian Ball with the entire party and more cool costumes and dancing. (Discontinued, but not for long!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "You know I hate politics."

The Inquisitor makes it very plain that they dislike politics.

After a long night of wine and talking, Josephine pried the reason behind their hatred out of them.  It seems that every politician they came across in their time as Keeper’s First not only dismissed their culture, position and gender, they also admonished their parents’ polyamorous relationship.

“I have three parents,” they say quaintly, pouring their friend another drink.  “It’s not perfect, but they all love each other, me and my siblings.  Their relationship is called _y’ssiva_ in my native tongue.  It’s been a part of elven culture since the Dales, at the very least.”

“And how many siblings do you have, again?” Josephine asks politely, sarcastically leaving her pinky out when she took a sip of her wine.  Lavellan laughs, copying her in an impromptu toast.

“Six.  Creators bless my mother, she’s a stronger hunter than both of my fathers combined.”

A harried messenger runs into the room without knocking.  He stands there for a minute just catching his breath, while Josephine and Lavellan eye him curiously.

“L-Lady Josephine,” he gasps, “It’s as we’ve feared.  The Inquisitor received an invitation to the Winter Palace.”

Lavellan’s brow furrowed.  They are in a true dalish mode at the moment, shoes removed and uniform disheveled.  They stand and eye the messenger, switching effortlessly from an unconcerned friend to an intimidating leader.

“What are you talking about,” they ask, tone bordering on threatening.

“ _Fils de pute_ ,” Josephine mutters.  “The Orlesian nobles want you to solve their civil war.”

* * *

It was after this occasion that Josephine finally saw the Inquisitor truly mad.  The next day, after the team is gathered in the War Room, she finds her friend dressed comfortably and sitting cross legged atop the War Table.  The Bull stands neatly to their right, arms crossed, and the spirit boy sits to her left in a chair.  Cullen is in the middle of a very bad explanation of Orlesian politics, Leliana glaring daggers at him.  The rest of the team is loosely assembled around the table, with the addition of their guest Madame de Fer, looking highly unamused.

“Josie, you know how much I hate politics,” they say bluntly, immediately shifting their focus away from the former Templar.

“How long have they been like this?” she whispers to the nearby Dorian.

“Since Madame over there trounced in an hour ago,” he hisses back.  “Placate them, please.  I can tell they’re ready to tear Cullen a new one any moment now.”

She nods tersely, and moves to the head of the table, gently nudging Cole aside so she can stand next to the Inquisitor.  The ambassador cleared her throat softly, and the attention of the room was caught.

“I understand that Empress Celene has invited us all to the Winter Palace.  But, dare I ask, Lady Vivienne, why have you graced us with your presence this evening?”

“Because absolutely no one except you and Sister Leliana are prepared for a ball, Lady Montilyet,” Vivienne explains slowly.  Not to her, rather, but to the rest of the room.  The Inquisitor’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“You calling me uncultured?” they challenge, standing and stepping over the map, and jumping onto the floor in front of the distinguished mage.  While Lavellan only comes up to Vivienne’s shoulder, that doesn't stop them from purely exuding skepticism and distrust.

“While being Keeper’s First is certainly something to be proud of, we don’t want any bigoted old nobles coming up to you and your other elven friends and asking for a drink or directions to the loo.”  Sera snorts in the background, and Solas huffs, but otherwise the room stays silent.

“And when you have a Tevinter mage, a qunari spy, a worn out Templar, a former dwarven noble, a Grey Warden, and the right and left hands of the Divine in the same party, that certainly doesn’t help ease the offended feelings of feeble rich men and women.”  Lavellan looks off to the side, taking a moment to let the information settle, and sighs.

“Then what do you suggest we do, Madame? Replace our colorful company with cleverly made up actors?”

“No,” she replies with a smile.  She moves to the edge of the table, glancing at every misbegotten mercenary and grizzled warrior that happened to stare back.

“We can certainly just pretty up the current cast.  The Orlesians seldom notice the difference.”


	2. Manners and Dresses

The etiquette lessons are just plain painful.  They range from the stubborn Lavellan, Bull and Sera who refuse to believe that wine comes in anything else than a tankard, the clueless Cole who has two left feet and has never seen a fork in his life, the out-of-place Cullen and Cassandra, and the well practiced Dorian, Varric and Leliana.  Josephine sits at the head of the table next to Vivienne, who is explaining every step painfully slow to _everyone_.  The poor ambassador is two seconds away from tearing her hair out, and a look across the table to the barely participating Solas proves that if he had hair, he would be right there with her.

Blackwall noticed.  He swiped a few of Vivienne’s expensive candies from a bowl, narrowly avoiding getting scolded, and places them on Josephine’s plate.

“You alright?” he asks lowly, bending slightly her way, never taking his eyes off Vivienne.

“This is like finishing school all over again,” she hisses back, nearing the verge of tears.  “I swear to the Maker, if Vivienne would stop trying to coddle them this would go a lot faster.”

“Why don’t you try teachin’ them, then?” he says, sparing her a quick glance.

“Like Vivienne would come down from her podium.”

“You’re a rogue, use your dagger if you have to,” he says, unintentionally harsh, fidgeting with the napkin in his lap.  “Just be quick.  The monotone’s starting to give me a headache.”

She hums disbelievingly, but then stands.  With a gentle hand on Vivienne’s shoulder, she momentarily got the mage to stop talking.  Blackwall mouths a quick _thank you_ , and Josephine replies with a harmless wink.

“Perhaps we should try a different way,” she says cheerfully.

* * *

“That went better than expected,” Blackwall concluded later, loud enough for Josephine and Lavellan to hear.  He tries not to squirm while an intern fitted him for a new suit, and he could see by the shifting shadows that the Inquisitor was having trouble reaching a decision about their finery.

"I have my ways," Josephine replies coyly.  They help Lavellan out of another dress, into the next suit, out of the next dress.  "You have to decide what to wear eventually, Elliot, you can't go running around the Winter Palace naked."

"I just haven't found anything appropriately... I don't know," the elf says with a sigh.  "I'm trying to find a mix of both a suit and a dress.  Also, mind you, there are entire festivals where the Dalish run around in their birthday suits."

"Truly?" Blackwall asks, stiffening as the shy intern's shaking hands wrapped around his chest.

"Just as truly as how we dance around the desecrated corpses of  _shemlens_ after battles, Blackwall," they reply flatly.

"Here," Josephine says softly.  She pulls an outfit from within the pile and motions for Lavellan to try it on; it begins as a blue top with a bateau neckline, covered at the shoulder by golden shoulder pads.  The sleeves go about halfway down their forearm and are fastened in place by three ornate golden buttons on each sleeve, and the remaining skin is covered by dark brown gloves.  A white sash is fastened over their left shoulder and tucked into another similar sash around their waist, and top is kept by five gold buttons lining the back.  The top is attached to a skirt with a full slit on the left side, and the blue fabric is lined at the edged with white and gold.  The Inquisitor pulls on a pair of long black breeches, and attaches the three fasteners on the side of the skirt to make the slit only go to their upper thigh.  Josephine pulls out a pair of thigh high boots and a simple white pendant, and turns Lavellan towards the mirror.

They stop fretting for a moment and just look at their reflection.

"It's good!... But something's missing," the ambassador titters, adopting a face of high concentration.  Lavellan pulls a long white hair pin out of the pile of glittering jewelry, and arranges their hair in a partition.

"There," they say confidently, smiling for the first time that afternoon.

"There indeed," Josephine says with a wide grin.  "Now maybe I'll actually be able to look for myself."

"You've been looking for the Inquisitor all this time, Josephine?" Blackwall interjects, trying in vain to get away from the intern, who is starting to get a bit too handsy.

"Yes I have.  But I actually had something in mind, believe it or not," she teases, pulling a lavender colored dress from her overwhelming pile.

The door is kicked open, and the Iron Bull swaggers in.   He is decked out in a fine suit handpicked by Vivienne, all violets and greys.  Blackwall notes the confident walk and new sophisticated air, and remembers that he, too, will have to act to this way.

"Is there one Inquisitor Lavellan present?" he chuckles, thumbs hooked around the edge of his belt.  Upon being called, Lavellan comes from around the partition with a smirk, displaying their new finery with pride.

"Looking good," the quanri rumbles flirtatiously, and Blackwall instantly feels as if though he's intruding on something very private.  He hopes desperately that Josephine appears within the next few moments, because Lavellan and Bull seem to have forgotten his presence and are dangerously close to ripping all of their new clothes off and fucking right then and there in the public dressing room.

Luck comes to him not in the form of the lady, but in the form of the spirit boy.  He appears atop a pile of pillows in the corner of the room, dressed in an oversized coat, cravat, and boots, stringy hair pinned and tied up neatly.

"Blackwall doesn't much appreciate your 'bedroom eyes'," he says quietly, surprising the two.  Lavellan more or less shrinks away embarrassed, while the Bull adopts a shit eating grin.

"Blackwall can suck my giant qunari di-"

" _Bull_ ," Josephine scolds, walking out in the open.  Blackwall is taken aback by how beautiful she looks; she wears a lavender dress with an empire waistline, with an over the shoulder cape-like collar and lace at every available edge.  He swallows, and looks away.

Lavellan punches the Bull's chest playfully, gently and platonically  admiring the ambassador.

"You look great," her friend says plainly.

"Why thank you, your Holiness," she replies sarcastically, curtsying for effect.  Silently, Blackwall nods to Cole, who smiles.

"You know she feels the same, right?" the boy asks innocently.  Blackwall can feel the blood rush to his face the moment Cole disappears, but it looks as if though Bull, Lavellan and Josephine did not notice.

"Now all we have to do is make Sera stop cutting out the fronts of her dresses," Josephine sighs.  Blackwall looks stubbornly at the place where Cole sat a moment ago, wishing vainly that the boy had never brought that particular topic up.


	3. Dancing

"Try again," Vivienne says strictly, voice honey sweet.

Cole sighs, gaze falling to the floor.  He can hear dozens of voices calling for his help, and staying visible this long wants to make him curl into a ball and sleep forever.  Begrudgingly, takes Josephine's hand and settles his free one on the small of her back, wishing in vain that he had never made himself visible to the formidable Vivienne.

They proceed cautiously, with Cole hesitantly leading her in the first few steps of a waltz.  He gets distracted almost immediately, thinking of the dog near the atrium that's going to have puppies soon, and trips over his own foot.  He doesn't fall, at least, and quickly recovers, remembering that he had to travel the room a little.

Blackwall, Cassandra and Varric watch the two from the sidelines, given a moment's respite from Vivienne's harsh teaching.  Solas leads Cullen away from Cole (veering dangerously close), and Dorian purposefully leads Sera closer, the two shamelessly joking away.

"Maker help the boy," Blackwall says quietly, rolling his wrist absentmindedly.

"He's got a good baseline," Varric defends lightheartedly.  "Give him a week, and he'll master it."

"We have two days," Cassandra groans.

"Exactly," the dwarf said, shit eating grin plastered on his features.

"Cassandra, Varric, get out here," Vivienne calls, growing more visibly agitated.  The Seeker and the dwarf share a frightened look, and with some nudging from Blackwall, edge out onto the impromptu dance floor.  Immediately, Vivienne stands them in front of each other, positions Varric's hands on Cassandra's back and right hand, and Cassandra's hands on his shoulder and left hand.

"Oh no," Varric mutters tersely.  "Oh _hell_ no."

"Vivienne, I-"

"Will dance with this man whether you like it or not, Seeker," the mage says quaintly.  "You're going to get stuck with partners you dislike often in these types of things.  It's best to start acquainting yourself with it with someone... more familiar."

Cassandra tries to complain, as does Varric, but they are both cut off every time.  Thoroughly defeated, they begin to dance, too angry at Vivienne and each other to look at anywhere but the ground.  

Several minutes pass, and eventually, they are the only ones dancing, and they're both able to muster up the dignity to look each other in the eye.

"You know, Seeker," he says gently, bordering on tenderly.  "Being within a five meter radius of you is a good reminder of just how boob-height I am compared to you."

"And how does that have anything to do with dancing, dare I ask?" she taunts, not daring to fully take the bait.  Her cheeks and ear tips start to glow red, and Varric is able to garner a few snickers from the crowd.

"Well, if any pretty noble is clueless enough to ask me to dance... You'll see."

"You wouldn't _dare_ ," Cassandra hisses, yelping when he attempts to dip her.

"Only if it's you, Cassandra," he whispers with a smirk and a wink.  "Only if it's you."

From atop a cushion, Cole gently nudges Josephine.  "What does he mean by..."

"Think on it," she says quietly.

The spirit quickly adopts a thinking face, wracking his brain for a viable answer, and it comes to him moments later.  With a soft  _oh,_ he sits up and eyes Cassandra and Varric in a new light.  By mistake, Josephine and Blackwall catch eyes for a moment and begin to laugh.


End file.
